CHAPTER 2 — The Four Years of Lies
CHAPTER 2 — The Four Years of Lies
Julian couldn't move.
For several seconds, the basement seemed to disappear.
There was only the man standing at the top of the stairs.
The same silver hair.
The same narrow eyes.
The same posture.
The same scar above his left eyebrow.
His father.
Victor Vance.
The man Julian had buried twelve years ago.
The man whose ashes he had personally scattered over Lake Michigan.
The man whose death certificate was locked inside Julian's private office.
Victor smiled.
"You look disappointed."
Julian's fingers tightened around Clara.
"No."
His voice was barely audible.
"I'm trying to understand how a dead man is standing in front of me."
Victor descended one step.
"Your mother asked the same question."
Julian's blood ran cold.
"My mother?"
Victor smiled again.
"She never believed I was dead."
Julian looked toward Victoria.
She had moved behind Victor.
Suddenly everything made sense.
The basement.
The missing records.
The erased surveillance.
Clara's disappearance.
Victoria wasn't the architect.
She was an accomplice.
But Victor was something worse.
He was the man Julian had trusted more than anyone.
His father.
"Stay behind me."
Julian whispered the words to Clara.
She shook her head.
"I've been behind people for four years."
She stepped beside him.
"Not anymore."
Victor watched her.
"You've changed."
Clara stared at him.
"You kept me in a basement."
"I kept you alive."
"You destroyed my life."
"I protected the family."
Julian laughed bitterly.
"Family?"
Victor looked at him.
"You have no idea what family means."
"I know what it doesn't mean."
Julian pointed toward Clara.
"It doesn't mean locking my wife underground."
Victor's expression hardened.
"She was a threat."
"To what?"
"To everything."
Julian stared at him.
"What exactly was she going to expose?"
Victor didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at Victoria.
"How much does he know?"
"Nothing."
Victor nodded.
"Good."
Julian's stomach tightened.
Four years of searching.
Four years of false leads.
Four years of unanswered questions.
And all of it had been manufactured.
He needed to understand how.
That night, Julian locked himself inside his study.
Clara was upstairs with a physician and two security officers.
She had finally fallen asleep.
Julian couldn't.
He opened an old storage cabinet.
Inside were four years of files.
He had kept everything.
Every missing-person report.
Every investigator's report.
Every photograph.
Every telephone record.
Every surveillance image.
Every anonymous tip.
Every false lead.
He had never been able to throw them away.
Because throwing them away had felt like giving up on Clara.
Now he spread them across the floor.
And for the first time, he looked at them differently.
Not as a grieving husband.
As an investigator.
The first file was dated four years ago.
CASE FILE: CLARA VANCE — MISSING.
Julian opened it.
The original police report stated:
Vehicle recovered at 11:47 PM.
But he remembered something different.
Clara's car had supposedly been discovered at 2:10 AM.
Julian frowned.
He searched for the supplemental report.
It was missing.
He opened the digital archive.
The document number existed.
The file itself didn't.
Someone had deleted it.
Julian's pulse quickened.
He opened another file.
A security-camera report.
It stated:
Camera malfunction from 10:15 PM to 11:50 PM.
Julian stared.
That was the exact period when Clara disappeared.
He checked the maintenance records.
The camera had not malfunctioned.
It had been manually disabled.
His breathing slowed.
Someone had deliberately erased the footage.
He opened another report.
A witness had claimed to see Clara entering a black sedan.
The witness's name was listed.
Daniel Mercer.
Julian remembered him.
A restaurant employee.
He had been interviewed once.
Then suddenly withdrew his statement.
Julian searched his old investigator's notes.
A handwritten sentence appeared:
Witness refuses further contact after receiving payment.
Julian's eyes narrowed.
Payment from whom?
He searched the bank records.
Nothing.
Then he noticed the account number.
It wasn't Daniel's.
It belonged to a private security company.
Vance Security Solutions.
His father's company.
Julian stared at the screen.
"No."
He opened the next file.
Another witness.
Another payment.
Another deleted statement.
Another missing photograph.
Another investigator who had suddenly resigned.
The pattern was everywhere.
Not one piece of evidence had been destroyed.
Hundreds had.
At 2:17 in the morning, Julian called his head of security.
"Bring me every backup you've ever made."
The man hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Every backup."
"Of what?"
"Everything related to Clara's disappearance."
There was silence.
"Sir, some of those files were archived."
"I don't care."
"Understood."
Thirty minutes later, a secure drive arrived.
Julian connected it.
The system displayed thousands of files.
Most had been untouched for years.
He searched:
CLARA VANCE.
Then:
VICTOR VANCE.
Then:
VICTORIA STERLING.
The results were almost empty.
That was impossible.
Julian had ordered hundreds of investigations into Victoria.
There should have been thousands of references.
Instead, there were twelve.
Twelve.
He opened the first.
A financial report.
The second.
A travel record.
The third.
A photograph.
The fourth was corrupted.
The fifth was empty.
Julian leaned back.
Someone hadn't simply deleted evidence.
They had altered the archive itself.
Then he noticed something.
A folder buried beneath an old directory.
Its name was a string of numbers.
Julian opened it.
Inside were surveillance files.
One video.
Two minutes and fourteen seconds.
Julian pressed play.
The image showed the parking lot outside the Bellmont.
Clara walked toward her car.
Then Victoria appeared.
Julian leaned closer.
They spoke.
There was no sound.
Victoria grabbed Clara's arm.
Clara pulled away.
Then a black sedan entered the frame.
The driver stepped out.
Julian froze.
He knew the man.
His father's former security chief.
Arthur Kane.
Arthur had died three years ago.
At least, that's what Julian had been told.
Julian stopped the video.
He stared at the screen.
Three dead people.
His father.
Arthur Kane.
And now Clara's disappearance.
Too many impossible deaths.
Too many coincidences.
The door opened.
Clara stood there.
"You haven't slept."
Julian quickly shut the laptop.
"Neither have you."
She smiled faintly.
"I've spent four years sleeping when Victoria allowed me to."
Julian felt guilt stab through him.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you didn't do this."
He lowered his eyes.
"I should have found you."
"You did."
"Four years later."
"You found me."
Clara walked closer.
"What did you discover?"
Julian hesitated.
Then he turned the laptop around.
She watched the video.
Her face became pale.
"That's him."
"Arthur Kane?"
She nodded.
"He came to the basement."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"When?"
"The night I disappeared."
"What did he do?"
"He argued with Victoria."
"About what?"
Clara closed her eyes.
"I don't remember."
"Try."
"I remember him saying..."
She stopped.
Julian waited.
"He said, 'The boy cannot know.'"
Julian stared.
"What boy?"
"I don't know."
Clara pressed her fingers against her temple.
"Then he said something about your father."
"What?"
"He said, 'Victor will handle Julian.'"
Julian felt cold.
"Victor."
Clara nodded.
"He knew your father was alive."
"Before I did."
"Yes."
Julian stood.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
Clara looked at him.
"I tried."
"What?"
"Every time I tried to talk about Victor, Victoria punished me."
Julian's jaw tightened.
"How?"
Clara looked away.
"She had ways."
He didn't ask for details.
Not yet.
He didn't want her to relive them.
Instead, he asked:
"Do you remember anything else?"
Clara thought.
"The night before I escaped."
Julian looked at her.
"You escaped?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I didn't."
She looked frightened.
"Someone opened the door."
"Who?"
"I never saw his face."
"What did he say?"
Clara whispered:
"He told me to run."
Julian stared.
"Why didn't you?"
"I was too weak."
"What happened?"
"He came back later."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
"But he left something."
"What?"
"A key."
Julian's heart accelerated.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Clara looked toward the basement.
"Victoria found it."
Julian suddenly understood.
"The basement."
He ran downstairs.
Clara followed.
The restraints were still attached to the wall.
Julian examined the floor.
Nothing.
Then he noticed a loose stone beneath the bed.
He pulled it away.
Inside was a small metal box.
Clara gasped.
Julian opened it.
Inside was a key.
And a piece of paper.
Four words.
LOOK UNDER YOUR FATHER'S GRAVE.
Julian stared.
His father had been cremated.
There was no grave.
Only a memorial plaque.
Unless...
He suddenly remembered something.
Victor had always insisted on a private memorial at the Vance family cemetery.
Julian had never questioned it.
Because Victor's ashes were supposedly buried there.
But Julian had never personally seen the urn.
He looked at Clara.
"He's been lying to us for twelve years."
Clara nodded.
"And now we know where to look."
Before dawn, Julian drove to the Vance cemetery.
Clara remained at home under security protection.
He didn't want her anywhere near another possible trap.
The cemetery was empty.
Mist covered the grass.
Julian walked toward the family memorial.
Victor's name was engraved in black granite.
VICTOR ALISTAIR VANCE
1960–2014
Julian knelt.
He touched the stone.
Then he noticed something.
The date was wrong.
Victor had supposedly died in October 2014.
But Julian remembered the funeral.
It had been November.
He checked the official death certificate.
October 19.
The funeral program.
November 7.
Twenty days.
Impossible.
Julian stood.
Someone had created a false death.
He looked behind the memorial.
A small metal panel was hidden beneath the stone.
He inserted the key.
Click.
The panel opened.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
Julian removed it.
The handwriting was Victor's.
His heart pounded.
He opened the envelope.
There was one photograph.
Victor standing beside a woman.
Julian recognized her immediately.
His mother.
But she was younger.
And in her arms was a baby.
Julian stared.
A note was attached.
This is the truth about your family.
He turned the photograph over.
A second sentence was written.
Julian was never supposed to inherit.
His hands trembled.
Then he saw the final line.
Because Julian is not my son.
Julian stopped breathing.
The world seemed to tilt.
He read it again.
Julian is not my son.
He looked toward the empty cemetery.
For four years, he had searched for his wife.
Now he had discovered that the man he called father had lied about his entire identity.
And suddenly the conspiracy surrounding Clara made sense in a terrifying new way.
Maybe Clara hadn't disappeared because of a family inheritance.
Maybe she had disappeared because she discovered who Julian really was.
His phone rang.
Clara.
Julian answered immediately.
"Clara?"
Her voice was trembling.
"Julian, come home."
"What happened?"
"I found something."
"What?"
Silence.
Then:
"Your father isn't the only person who came back."
Julian's blood went cold.
"Who?"
Clara whispered:
"Your mother."
The call ended.
Julian looked at Victor's memorial.
For the first time in his life, he understood the terrible possibility.
He hadn't spent four years searching for a missing wife.
He had spent four years searching for the first piece of a truth his entire family had buried.
And now that truth was beginning to surface.
May you like
One dead person at a time.
To be continued.
